I've been a "mother" for nearly 18 years now.
It may seem strange to put it that way to most...but in my world, I have been a mother much longer than I have been a mom. And to me, there is a distinct difference.
You become a mother the day you give birth.A simple matter of biology. However, the distinction lies not in the bringing life into this world but in the nurturing of that life once it is here. So, yes. I have been a mother for coming up on 18 years in August....but I have only been a mom since Caleb came into this world 15 years ago this coming Wednesday.
In my eyes, a mom is the one who changes millions of diapers, who wakes multiple times in the night to feed crying babies, the one who bathes, dresses, and cares for the day to day needs of that child. She is the one who kisses scraped knees and soothes bruised egos, the one who wipes away tears and laughs at pure childhood silliness. She sings songs. She reads stories. She sits up all night with sick kiddos, and worries incessantly about broken bones, bullies, and readying their children for a world that is often cruel. She is not afraid of puke, or snot, or slobber. Most days she walks around with one of the three smeared across her chest like a badge of honor. Being a mom means getting down and dirty, and not shying away from making the hard decisions or being the bad guy, even when its the most difficult thing to be but its in her child's best interest.
You become a mom, not by giving birth, but by slogging through the day to day drudgery of motherhood itself.
We mothers tend to carry around a whole lot of guilt...and sometimes with that nasty guilt complex comes a heavy sense of failure. I want to say right now...on Mother's Day.....you are NOT a failure. We are all just stumbling through life in general, doing the best we can to just put one foot in front of the other most days.There isn't a manual. There isn't any way to have a set plan. We all just make decisions based on what we think is best, sometimes good decisions, sometimes not so good. Motherhood isn't any different. You WILL make mistakes. You WILL have to make hard choices. Your child will more than likely at some point tell you that you are a horrible mother or that they hate you. They'll be convinced that your whole goal is to ruin their lives. And you know what? They don't mean a word of it. Even if they don't realize it at the time. One of these days, when they become parents themselves, they're going to be just like you. If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, take heart that they're going to be flattering the hell out of you. :)
So what I am asking of you is this....When those old feelings of failure creep up on you, when the laundry and dirty dishes are piling up, the kids are screaming, and you feel like crawling into bed to do nothing but cry, please remember this. You are amazing. No one else on this Earth is as capable of being your children's mother as you are. Keep your head up and keep fighting the good fight. And never, ever forget that by cleaning puke, and wiping tears, and kissing sweetly smelling heads good night, you are earning your title...the one which deserves nothing but the highest respect....MOM.
Happy Mother's Day...from me to you. :)
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Fear, Frustration, and All the Nasty Side Effects of Pregnancy Hormones....
Posts two days in a row? What is wrong with me??
I just need to work through some of the thoughts running through my mind and since writing (whether publicly or not) seems to be cathartic for me, here I am.
We're coming up on the 30 week mark for this pregnancy. I have been thoroughly enjoying a nondescript, relatively easy pregnancy for the majority of the last 7 and 1/2 months. Nothing too exciting or worrisome going on, regular doctor appointments without any of the extras thrown in...all in all, your average run of the mill pregnancy. A far cry from my pregnancy with Liddy.
The one thing I have struggled with, silently mostly, has been fear. Labor with Liddy was excruciatingly long. Delivery itself was easy but led to a hemorrhage which resulted in my needing to receive two units of blood and labor that continued for an additional two days post-birth before delivering...well, let's just say, a nasty surprise. I feel strongly as if I kissed the face of the Grim Reaper and somehow, miraculously, made it through still alive and breathing. To say that I am scared of giving birth again is a slight understatement. I am literally terrified. TERRIFIED.
I've practically begged for a C-section. 5 doctors have told us that it isn't necessary, that the chances of a repeat performance of my own personal nightmare are slim to none, that the chances for similar complications during or following a c-section are greater than those having one more natural birth. They assure me that there is no way that I will be induced for nearly 4 days before having a baby again. They assure me that this time I will not go to the bathroom and receive a nasty surprise. They assure me that I will find that I have no need for an emergency D&C. Yet. Their reassurances do little in the way of ACTUALLY assuring me. That old nagging fear still plagues me.
And now...well, so much is uncertain for little Levi. We are still waiting to find out if my liver is failing in its duties due to the pregnancy. If it is, we face a baby who will be forced to be brought into this world before he is actually ready. We face an almost repeat performance of the last months of my pregnancy with Liddy....a steady stream of doctor's appointments, ultrasounds, and non-stress tests. Dreaded uncertainty mixed with excitement and joy at his birth.And as much as I have feared for the last 4 months for myself, I now fear more for him.
Here's the thing. I truly didn't believe that I was strong enough to make it through everything we have been through with Liddy without falling completely apart. I was wrong. I came through with colors flying, more confident than ever that I am one tough cookie, that my God is mighty and just, and thanking God over and over that I never had to face anything like that again. Almost the first entire year of her life, I was so choked with fear that it was a relief to have that weight lifted from my shoulders and to live without that ever present worry constantly tapping me on my shoulder. I never expected to have any more children. I thought I was done and that surviving that year intact was my own personal badge of honor. I carried it as such. And now, faced with a similar (but not the same) circumstances, I fall right back into the "Poor me. I don't think I can deal with this again" trap, one which I am helpless to combat, yet one that frustrates me to no end.
I cry at the drop of a hat. I cuss. I snap at the people I love most in this world. The fear, the uncertainty, is once again winning. And I HATE that. I look around myself and see other parents and friends dealing with so much more...devastating unforeseen circumstances...potentially life altering illnesses....and I want to smack my own face. WTH do I have to be afraid of? A NICU stay? Big whoop. We've been there before. Adding more stress to a plate already overflowing? Well, been there too and, I'm sure, will be there again. Death? I've faced that, both with myself and with my precious daughter, and I feel strongly that my time isn't done here just yet. I have work left to finish. Yet. Again, the fear remains.
I feel like I am whining. That's not my intention by any means. I suppose that writing this is a little bit of cheap therapy, a reminder that I am not in charge, despite my delusions of grandeur, and that I need to leave all these crazy thoughts and fears in the hands of the only Someone who actually IS. Apparently, it worked for now since I started out writing with tears rolling down my face and those tears have dried....
Still, I ask you to pray for us....to pray for a safe delivery of a healthy baby boy (whenever that may be), to pray for peace for his potentially crazy hormonal mama, and to pray for patience for his daddy, who bless his heart, is the one who most often gets to deal with all the hormonal mama madness.
I just need to work through some of the thoughts running through my mind and since writing (whether publicly or not) seems to be cathartic for me, here I am.
We're coming up on the 30 week mark for this pregnancy. I have been thoroughly enjoying a nondescript, relatively easy pregnancy for the majority of the last 7 and 1/2 months. Nothing too exciting or worrisome going on, regular doctor appointments without any of the extras thrown in...all in all, your average run of the mill pregnancy. A far cry from my pregnancy with Liddy.
The one thing I have struggled with, silently mostly, has been fear. Labor with Liddy was excruciatingly long. Delivery itself was easy but led to a hemorrhage which resulted in my needing to receive two units of blood and labor that continued for an additional two days post-birth before delivering...well, let's just say, a nasty surprise. I feel strongly as if I kissed the face of the Grim Reaper and somehow, miraculously, made it through still alive and breathing. To say that I am scared of giving birth again is a slight understatement. I am literally terrified. TERRIFIED.
I've practically begged for a C-section. 5 doctors have told us that it isn't necessary, that the chances of a repeat performance of my own personal nightmare are slim to none, that the chances for similar complications during or following a c-section are greater than those having one more natural birth. They assure me that there is no way that I will be induced for nearly 4 days before having a baby again. They assure me that this time I will not go to the bathroom and receive a nasty surprise. They assure me that I will find that I have no need for an emergency D&C. Yet. Their reassurances do little in the way of ACTUALLY assuring me. That old nagging fear still plagues me.
And now...well, so much is uncertain for little Levi. We are still waiting to find out if my liver is failing in its duties due to the pregnancy. If it is, we face a baby who will be forced to be brought into this world before he is actually ready. We face an almost repeat performance of the last months of my pregnancy with Liddy....a steady stream of doctor's appointments, ultrasounds, and non-stress tests. Dreaded uncertainty mixed with excitement and joy at his birth.And as much as I have feared for the last 4 months for myself, I now fear more for him.
Here's the thing. I truly didn't believe that I was strong enough to make it through everything we have been through with Liddy without falling completely apart. I was wrong. I came through with colors flying, more confident than ever that I am one tough cookie, that my God is mighty and just, and thanking God over and over that I never had to face anything like that again. Almost the first entire year of her life, I was so choked with fear that it was a relief to have that weight lifted from my shoulders and to live without that ever present worry constantly tapping me on my shoulder. I never expected to have any more children. I thought I was done and that surviving that year intact was my own personal badge of honor. I carried it as such. And now, faced with a similar (but not the same) circumstances, I fall right back into the "Poor me. I don't think I can deal with this again" trap, one which I am helpless to combat, yet one that frustrates me to no end.
I cry at the drop of a hat. I cuss. I snap at the people I love most in this world. The fear, the uncertainty, is once again winning. And I HATE that. I look around myself and see other parents and friends dealing with so much more...devastating unforeseen circumstances...potentially life altering illnesses....and I want to smack my own face. WTH do I have to be afraid of? A NICU stay? Big whoop. We've been there before. Adding more stress to a plate already overflowing? Well, been there too and, I'm sure, will be there again. Death? I've faced that, both with myself and with my precious daughter, and I feel strongly that my time isn't done here just yet. I have work left to finish. Yet. Again, the fear remains.
I feel like I am whining. That's not my intention by any means. I suppose that writing this is a little bit of cheap therapy, a reminder that I am not in charge, despite my delusions of grandeur, and that I need to leave all these crazy thoughts and fears in the hands of the only Someone who actually IS. Apparently, it worked for now since I started out writing with tears rolling down my face and those tears have dried....
Still, I ask you to pray for us....to pray for a safe delivery of a healthy baby boy (whenever that may be), to pray for peace for his potentially crazy hormonal mama, and to pray for patience for his daddy, who bless his heart, is the one who most often gets to deal with all the hormonal mama madness.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
The Reality Is....
I've had something on my mind this morning. As I was scrolling through my Facebook feed when I got up, a link to an article a friend had posted last night caught my eye. It was a blog post written by someone who I am sure is more professional a writer than I am and who has been a parent of a little girl with Down syndrome slightly longer than I have. The title itself put me on edge somewhat, "My Child with Down Syndrome is Not a Gift From God." Of course, I had to go read it. There were some things I STRONGLY disagreed with.
Now, don't get me wrong. I fully believe that every parent has a different journey. I believe that all of us were "given" a child with Down syndrome for different reasons, despite the fact that sometimes its difficult to completely grasp what exactly those reasons are. And I totally get that our kids are not all the stereotypical angels full of nothing but sunshine and never ending joy. I live myself with a very real two year old hellion, who has the most magical smile, but who can also go from sweetness and light to a biting, kicking, smacking, temper tantrum throwing heathen in the blink of an eye.
Lydia is, without a doubt, equal parts her father and myself. The good, the bad and the sometimes ugly. Down syndrome, while a large part of who she is essentially, does not in any way DEFINE who she is. She is, simply, herself. However, where I beg to differ with the a fore mentioned article is here: While she is equal parts her father and me, she also possesses her own qualities that are MORE than anything we could have ever given her. And I have to believe in my heart that God, in His infinite wisdom, bestowed and polished those qualities within her which would give her those things she requires to overcome the unique challenges she has faced, and will continue to face, in her life.
No one wants to hand their 13 lb six month old over for open heart surgery. No parent wants to sit in a waiting room for 8 hours, jumping every time a nurse or a doctor passes by, waiting impatiently for the news that all is well yet fearing the opposite. No parent in their right mind would choose that for their child, or themselves. However, having walked that path, I can say without a single shred of doubt that those hours in surgery, the painstaking process of repairing a tiny heart which would not have continued to beat without those surgeon's hands, without that ordeal, without the painful and long recovery filled with set backs, none of us, including Liddy, would be the same people we are today.
No one wants to watch their child struggle through hours of therapy to do the things that other children do without careful consideration and tons of practice. We work UP to major tasks that come so easily to other babies, younger than she is. I wouldn't have chosen this for her...However, it was the life given to us and her drive, her stubbornness, her sassy attitude give her the motivation to try hundreds of times if that's what it takes...and it makes the accomplishing that much sweeter. I've been the mom of a typical developing toddler and I can guarantee that, although the accomplishments were exactly the same milestones met, those accomplishments were, while causes for joy, never celebrated the way they are now. Maybe that makes me less of a mother to my son than I am to my daughter in your eyes. In my eyes, it was all a matter of simply lacking the perspective I have now.
No one wants their child to be stared at, made fun of, or hurt. I choose to believe (and more often than not, I'm right) that Liddy gets stares where ever we go because, let's face it. She's gorgeous. She's captivating. There's a magical quality within her that makes people every where stop and gather near her for just a glimpse of her heart stopping smile or a bright bubbly "hi".
That's, again, part of who she is...the precious imp with the alabaster skin of her great-great grandma, with the big blue eyes of her mama, with the same nose and mouth as her brother but with a smile entirely of her own. Will she have her feelings hurt at some point in her life? More than likely. Just as more than likely some day some little punk is going to tease her for the very thing I revere so much in her, her uniqueness. But I hope, with all of my heart, that the self confidence and acceptance of herself that we are fostering in her now will carry her through those hard times. And if not, then she will always have her mama to cuddle her and remind her how very much she is loved. For exactly who she is, Down syndrome and all.
So with all that being said, I agree to respectfully disagree with the author who believes that her child isn't a gift from God. It's completely within your rights to believe that. As for me, I fully believe that my child is. One given to teach me, and so many others, lessons we never even knew we needed to learn before her existence. And for every single thing she has taught me...patience, unconditional love, confidence, pure unadulterated joy, heart ache, faith, tenacity, and the power of God's infinite grace....I am immensely thankful.
Now, don't get me wrong. I fully believe that every parent has a different journey. I believe that all of us were "given" a child with Down syndrome for different reasons, despite the fact that sometimes its difficult to completely grasp what exactly those reasons are. And I totally get that our kids are not all the stereotypical angels full of nothing but sunshine and never ending joy. I live myself with a very real two year old hellion, who has the most magical smile, but who can also go from sweetness and light to a biting, kicking, smacking, temper tantrum throwing heathen in the blink of an eye.
No one wants to hand their 13 lb six month old over for open heart surgery. No parent wants to sit in a waiting room for 8 hours, jumping every time a nurse or a doctor passes by, waiting impatiently for the news that all is well yet fearing the opposite. No parent in their right mind would choose that for their child, or themselves. However, having walked that path, I can say without a single shred of doubt that those hours in surgery, the painstaking process of repairing a tiny heart which would not have continued to beat without those surgeon's hands, without that ordeal, without the painful and long recovery filled with set backs, none of us, including Liddy, would be the same people we are today.
No one wants to watch their child struggle through hours of therapy to do the things that other children do without careful consideration and tons of practice. We work UP to major tasks that come so easily to other babies, younger than she is. I wouldn't have chosen this for her...However, it was the life given to us and her drive, her stubbornness, her sassy attitude give her the motivation to try hundreds of times if that's what it takes...and it makes the accomplishing that much sweeter. I've been the mom of a typical developing toddler and I can guarantee that, although the accomplishments were exactly the same milestones met, those accomplishments were, while causes for joy, never celebrated the way they are now. Maybe that makes me less of a mother to my son than I am to my daughter in your eyes. In my eyes, it was all a matter of simply lacking the perspective I have now.
No one wants their child to be stared at, made fun of, or hurt. I choose to believe (and more often than not, I'm right) that Liddy gets stares where ever we go because, let's face it. She's gorgeous. She's captivating. There's a magical quality within her that makes people every where stop and gather near her for just a glimpse of her heart stopping smile or a bright bubbly "hi".
That's, again, part of who she is...the precious imp with the alabaster skin of her great-great grandma, with the big blue eyes of her mama, with the same nose and mouth as her brother but with a smile entirely of her own. Will she have her feelings hurt at some point in her life? More than likely. Just as more than likely some day some little punk is going to tease her for the very thing I revere so much in her, her uniqueness. But I hope, with all of my heart, that the self confidence and acceptance of herself that we are fostering in her now will carry her through those hard times. And if not, then she will always have her mama to cuddle her and remind her how very much she is loved. For exactly who she is, Down syndrome and all.
So with all that being said, I agree to respectfully disagree with the author who believes that her child isn't a gift from God. It's completely within your rights to believe that. As for me, I fully believe that my child is. One given to teach me, and so many others, lessons we never even knew we needed to learn before her existence. And for every single thing she has taught me...patience, unconditional love, confidence, pure unadulterated joy, heart ache, faith, tenacity, and the power of God's infinite grace....I am immensely thankful.
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